Authors notes: Alrighty then! As you all may know by now I have never been acknowledged for my succinct writing skills XD But this chapter is by far the worst of all. I had problems writing this because of unimportant stuff. You have my word that chapters from me will not suck so much if I can prevent it…this was unpreventable XD I just wanted it OUT! (I almost scraped this several times, but I didn't want you to have to wait any longer!) D:

Love or Blood

Chapter Twelve: The Best Development

xxxx

There was a time in my youth where I would have appreciated this. I have always been a shy girl, but when I was younger I loved these opportunities. The prospect of thanking someone vigorously was a fascination to me at the time. I looked for any excuses I could to have a reason to say 'thank you', even to complete strangers. It was something to say for me, something powerful, and meaningful, but only consisted of two little words.

It acted as a conversation starter. Usually children are bursting with questions and such, but I was not, I was afraid to speak up. I was embarrassed easily over little things ever since I was small. On one particular occasion a friend of my mothers commented on my blush. He said I was as red as a tomato while pinching my cheek. I was eleven at the time and little me had thought the man was handsome. As soon as he said this though my eyes burned with tears and I never found him charming again. Even at a young age I hated attention, but loved to talk. In my eyes I thought he would have been an interesting conversationalist, he thought I was a tomato.

My parents had said that I was too sensitive, too bashful, too serious, and far too quiet. I was and still am but I now desperately need to snap out of it. In order to thank the Count, in order to apologize to him I need to speak.

So here I am at his manor door again trying to sum up the will to go and talk with him. At this juncture in my life I wish I still found conversation interesting. Maybe then I could at least pry myself off his decorative columns.

The silence in his home is calming to me, but when nervous it makes my ears ring and hands get especially cold. To get my blood to flow I took a step forward and began rubbing my hands together. No sooner had I done this did I hear a door open. His door of course, and I instinctively clung to the pillar once again.

The Count stepped out of his bedchamber and looked down the hall at me. I felt the hair on the back of my neck prickle -- more out of excitement than fear. For a moment all he did was watch me, only when the silence had stretched for what felt like a considerably long time did he beckon me to come down the hall with two fingers. Despite my now tingling palms and fluttery stomach I forced my arms to my sides and walked over to him as quickly as I could, all the while watching my posture. Once I was before him I looked up, nearly having to arch my neck all the way back to look him in the eyes.

"I hear you have something you wish to say to me."

"…Yes."

"I am listening, take your time."

I sighed thankfully through my nose and prepared myself to speak. Only then did I realize though that I did not decide on what I was going to say. Would thanking him first be more appropriate? Would an apology be better? Oh dear.

"W-what I wanted to say…It…I'm--" I cut myself off, biting my lip and looked up to him again imploringly. What do I say? How do I say it? Is now the best time? "You, you…Thanks I want…erm, no. I…"

He kept looking away from me. I hope he is not annoyed. He keeps looking down and nodding his attention back up at me. I must make this quick, I want to tell him before I loose all of his attention.

XXXX

She was sweet, really she was. A shy sweetheart making her best attempts to please him. Janus wasn't entirely touched by the sentiment, but in a small way he was moved. She was trying her hardest to say the right thing and say how she felt -- he made that much out of her babbling so far.

Little did she know she had already earned the Counts forgiveness. On the contrary to being angry with her for the accident, he was rather pleased that she did. If she had never cut herself she would still be in an apron, and if she were still in an apron he would have never been able to stare down at her and get such an interesting view. He hadn't meant to look, but they were there, pushed up tight against a square-cut black blouse. It was such a contrast to her pale skin that he had to look. Any one would…

It was her fault anyway for wearing such a shirt. It wasn't entirely low-cut, but she should have taken in their height difference before parading around under his nose in it.

Although he found this all rather charming, he felt the need to help her somehow. He wanted to give her something to take the edge off such a 'crucial' meeting. But what could he do to help her talk to him? Obviously she found him intimidating, as anyone would. Somehow he had to make her feel less like a petty slave and more like a young lady who came to apologize for her bad manners.

He easily blamed his compassion for her: it was her blood, her eyes, and that all around dolefulness that seemed to seep from her pores.

The Count thought back to when he was young, before his marriage, and his decency. She wasn't the first pretty maid to service him, but she was certainly the prettiest. In his youth when he found a lady pretty, regardless of her station, he would do what any gentleman would do.

Skingrad wines were famous after all.

xxxx

"Please my Lord, I'm sorry for all my babbling. What I am trying to say…or apologize for. --"

The Count suddenly held up a hand for me to stop, and with that one signal he made my heart thud and face burn. My first fear was that he was going to dismiss me. If he did I would have to tell Hal-Liurz this and she would be far more than angry. The Stewardess threatened me again beforehand, she said that if I failed at something as simple as this then it would be my blood in the Counts bottles tomorrow. I don't think she was making a mark at my life again that time, but at my wellbeing -- which is not much better.

But he was smiling at me. A small apologetic smile that plainly said 'I pity you, you stupid girl'. He bowed his head closer to me, instinctively I tensed but other than that remained still. That smile was still there along his thin lips, and even with that and our close proximity I didn't feel very scared. I was a little, but that could have been for many reasons: man, vampire, the feeling of entrapment. Although these factors and notions played in the current they did not faze me as much as they should have.

Perhaps it was from that dumbstruck chill that creeps up my spine whenever he comes so close -- it could have numbed my senses. There was just something about the Count that I feel comfortable with. He has never hurt me or even attempted to. He threatened my life, yes, but has yet to make good on it. I'm unsure to whether or not its trust that I feel. All my life I have never trusted anyone but my father and mother and I ended up running away from them. It's not safe for me to hold such a sentiment.

I may be wrong, as I often have difficulties understanding my own needs and comforts, but I think it could be the Counts body language that calms me. Never a faulty gesture, no surprises. Everything he does is apparent and cultured. I'm not afraid of him suddenly rushing at me, or grabbing my arm in anger -- at least not anymore. I trust his eyes too, which is ironic, being that they are redder than polished garnet.

Yes. When it comes to body language I usually can predict what it is he will do. Like right now, he will probably tell me that I'm a silly girl then lean back and tell me to slow down or calm down.

"Are you going to be alright?" He asked me quietly. I certainly was close but the question -- like most of his questions -- took me off guard. I never did say I understood his speech.

"I…yes?"

And then he did lean back and cross his arms, but also gave me a new smug smile. New, seeing as he's never smiled at me like that before.

"I thought so. Come with me."

XXXX

He had to hold back laughter as she stared up at him like he had ten heads. The Count of Skingrad had never received such a look when he offered a lady a chair. But this girl was different…more as strange.

All he had done was bring her to his bedroom, closed the door, and told her to have a seat. Her lips seemed to automatically purse and form a little O. She was going to question him, or attempt to, but quickly decided against it when she met his eyes again.

She lowered herself onto the chair gracefully but sat funny. He watched her out of the corner of his eye as she scooted to the very edge of her seat, lace her fingers in her lap, and lock her legs together at the knees. He even heard the bones in her knees clap together with the force she applied. She had every intent of jumping up again if he tried anything funny and the Count saw this. Janus actually found it slightly amusing. She was so paranoid over everything. He had even heard that she gave the butler similar treatment.

When he walked over and placed a bottle of wine before her on the little table, and two tall glasses, she gave him that same look again. The, 'What are you doing? Why are you doing it?' look.

And when he sat across from her he watched, with slight irritation, as she scooted further back into the chair.

One could say he was testing her. Another could say he was testing himself. What Janus believed himself to be doing was simply holding a formal chat. He truly wanted her to be comfortable, and wanted to see how she would react to him after a drink. In all it was an experiment on both their parts. If she could just except a drink and actually drink it than he was positive that he could ware away all her quirks. But if she refused and threatened to smash her glass -- much like she pulled hours before -- then she really was a lost cause.

It was a sad assumption, but a true one. Little can fathom the bond that can be formed by simply sharing some wine with the person in front of them.

xxxx

I did think mere minutes ago that I could guess anything the Count would do, but I was very wrong. Never in all my life did I think he would have me sit in one of his fine chairs. Never in my life did I imagine he would look at me as a scholar would to a curious student. And never in my life did I ever dream of him placing a glass of wine in front of me. And because of all this I was as nervous as ever.

Every time he looked at me I felt my face burn. The way he moved, or how his eyes seemed to keep sweeping down on me had me feeling very self-conscious. It took great effort on my part to keep from gnawing away at my lip and stop my legs from moving. I was already itching to leave.

I tried to calm myself down by looking at the intricate carvings on the sides of the table before us. But I could still feel his eyes on me, as obvious as if he were poking me. I was going to have to tough this out, appear nonchalant, thank and apologize. Possibly I will get away and be able to tell Tualga or Rheena the goings on between the Count and I. Not that I want to gossip, or that I will even tell them anything, but I do like the idea of being alive and having the choice to say it.

Please, my Lord, don't hurt me.

He gently pushed the wine closer to me and waved a hand near it to invite me to drink. I tried to smile in thanks but all that could form on my lips was a tight grimace. To keep him from seeing this I covered my mouth in what I thought was a casual gesture, if one looked past my trembling hand.

It wasn't entirely the fact that I was fearing for my own wellbeing, but the pressure that comes with my current position. I am a servant, I am a maid, I should not be sharing wine with the Count of Skingrad.

Some might see this as a beneficial opportunity. From what I gathered this does not happen often, thus I must have done something to earn the pleasure of his more intimate company. However that does not sit well with me and never has. I have done nothing do deserve such an honor, so I should be left well alone. This all leads me to suspect something must be wrong. But what? Perhaps I am too paranoid for my own good. Maybe I should just use this opportunity and make my peace with him.

"I thought being in a more comfortable setting would help you." He said with a soft gaze, ultimately jolting me from my stupor. "You needn't be afraid, you are in no trouble at all. I cannot hold you accountable for an accident."

'Oh gods,' I shifted in my seat. 'he is so polite.' And I wanted to be polite too. He was acting as a gentleman would and I found myself wondering why I had been frightened at all. Anyone who can hold such a sympathetic voice as that while keeping eye-contact must be genuine. But I have been bewitched before by a pair of red eyes fairly close to being like his…I'll try to be kind, but I shall still tread with caution.

XXXX

The Count watched with an odd fascination as she shakily settled herself further into the chair. She was trying to relax and calm herself and he would give her time to do so. He had all the time in the world after all.

She was such a strange creature, but everything she did made him want to watch her more. It was almost turning into an obsession. He desperately wanted to know what made her tick with each breath she took.

He could see the wheels madly turning behind her eyes. No matter what the circumstance they spun. Her thoughts must be wild. It would explain her behavior…but did she always have to think about everything?

Fascinating...

"I would be lying if I said I didn't know you were still wary of me." He smiled again softly as he watched her rubbing at her knuckles. "Although I cannot blame you for being so I find it rather distracting. The wine would help calm you. Perhaps it would make this more enjoyable for us both as well."

She carefully looked up at him, already pink cheeked and swollen lipped -- lips especially he found himself staring at. They were so soft looking and full…not that he cared, but looking at them was nice. He couldn't stare long though, he soon felt that nearly magnetic tug of her eyes pulling him up to meet her gaze. Janus doubted that she even wanted him to look at her, but her eyes were so piercing that it could not be helped, so he complied. Their locked gaze only lasted a heartbeat long, but in the time it was held Janus could feel the intensity of it. He wondered what it would feel like to have those eyes on him for a longer amount of time. To just have her stare up at him --

She was picking up her glass.

At first she held it childishly in both hands as she brought it to her face. She stared into the red, swirling, liquid with little contempt -- the look one gave a bottle of ale after a hangover -- then placed it between her fingers and took a small, tentative sip, leaving Janus slightly shocked. He had almost expected her to not drink.

Happily surprised, he took a sip from his own glass as well, noticing the little crumpled face the girl was starting to make. He held back a chuckle and watched her dink a little more, and a little more, her wrinkled nose remaining apparent. "Is it to your liking?" He teased, knowing all too well that she was drinking for politeness sake only.

"It…it is very," She paused and stared into her cup. "Sweet."

The Count simply nodded and felt little relief from the new topic. He could have started a conversation on his own but it was easier to have her do it for him. Not that he was bashful, but he didn't think the girl would be too keen on discussing her own lips…"Yes, well, this is Surille wine. I am more partial to them rather than Tamika. They add sugar to it. I'm afraid I am plagued with a sweet tooth." Two of them, he thought bitterly.

He watched the corners of her mouth pull upward for a moment as she nodded. His little servant had smiled her first at him. He wondered if the wine was taking effect already. She had polished off her first glass after all, so it was possible.

Without another thought he took the bottle of wine and refilled her glass. "Our dearest Stewardess has told me you wished to apologize for acting irrationally and," He paused, deciding it best to just quote the Argonian word for word. "Idiotically."

The Breton perked up and nodded but stayed silent. "She is under the impression that you hurt yourself on purpose to irk me. She is…an easily annoyed woman so I let her comment slide. I did not defend you, but don't fret, I know it was an accident. I just wanted to hear what you have to say." The girl stared wide-eyed at hearing this, gripping her glass to the point it may have shattered. Of course she was innocent, but knowing that they had even debated otherwise sent chills up her spine and Janus could sense them.

"I-I implore you…please. It was accidental, this I swear. My Lord I never wish to cause you any grievance. I am so sorry for the way I acted. So, so sorry…" She trailed off and bowed her pretty head. The Count could feel that she was ashamed and embarrassed, but above all things pitiful. Always so pitiful.

Usually he did not care for the comfort of others in the sense of embarrassment. However this time he did and wanted to say something. Janus reasoned again that he felt sympathetic for her only because she was young, but still so sincere. Just as he was about to offer some words of comfort she began speaking again in that hushed and hurried voice.

"Sir I-I will be honest with you now. I want to be good for you but I cant help myself. I am always afraid, afraid of everything and I wish I was not. But you are so kind to me and I don't know why. I want to know why. I want to be kind to you."

The wine was definitely in effect, and after only two glasses. (1) Still he felt quite taken aback by her outburst. She even said that he was kind to her. He hadn't know that, the whole reason he was trying to be charming was to prove that he could show compassion.

Being a little dumbstruck the Count refilled another glass for her and murmured. "You are just a very shy girl. It will pass, soon you will feel less awkward around me. Once you realize that I wont attack you --"

"But I am not afraid of that." She pleaded, "I am afraid of other things, but not that, sir."

He looked up at her, away from the glass and back to her eyes, and saw just how much she meant those words. Her soft gaze lulled him speechless. Any word that left her mouth was honest and true. She was not afraid of his disease but was still afraid of him and he could not imagine why. (2) He had always felt something extra in her stares, aside from her usual paranoia. It was as though she resented him for something he could not remember doing. He doubted that it was because she was forced to stay with him, he heard from the stewardess that the girl was pleased with her new home. So what could it be and why was it there?

"What are you afraid of?" Janus knew better than to pry when the girl was under the influence but could not refrain from doing so. He had a right to know after all.

She shifted, as always, and looked down at her feet. "You are so kind." She whispered, still averting his gaze. She chewed on her lip and looked so sad, nearly on the verge of tears. "How long will it last?"

There his mouth ran away from him. It broke through his will and spouted off the first thing that came to mind: "Forever." He felt so distressed by his servant. The Count had never seen anyone like her. So sad and broken like a wilted flower. He could not allow her to be like that, he would not let her be under the illusion of him hurting her at some point. No, he would never hurt her. Such a pretty girl, such a beautiful women should not be afraid. He was there now, he wouldn't let her be scarred. She was so sweet and shy…she disserved only kindness, and that would be justice. (3) He knew she would return this kindness in time, and Gods knew he needed that.

It would be nice to have someone look at him differently for a change. Like an equal, even if for a moment.

XXXX

It was near dawn and she was smiling a lot now. Her arms were crossed and relaxed on the armrest of the chair and her head was neatly settled in their nook. Her feet would swing back and forth along the carpet and the Count listened to the constant swish swish of the fabric as her toes hit it.

He had lost count of just how many glasses on wine she had. He had known better than to fill her cup each time it emptied but she seemed to talk a little more with every sip. She was quite amusing to, still so shy even when drunk. Janus was enjoying himself and she was as well. Every so often she would giggle nervously and babble on about the heat of the room. She would touch her face, bring her cool fingertips to her burning cheeks and smile. But what got him the most was how much she talked about him. Saying he was so generous, kind, and gentle…and tall. She commented on his height a questionable amount of times.

All in all she was precious, and certainly knew how to stroke an ego.

"You fixed me to." She babbled on, keeping that adoring tone and expression. "I'm all patched up now thanks to you, my lord."

Her eyelashes continued to bat his way and forced him to smile. "Did I now? May I ask what it was that I fixed?" (4) It was not nice for him to encourage her, it was not in his station to do so, but it was fun. Janus humored her and himself, two birds with one stone. There was nothing really wrong with it. So far it had been nothing but small, innocent conversation.

She sighed, and he dared himself to label it as dreamily. "Everything. All my scars are…well I just don't have anymore. You fixed me with that potion of yours." She then started up the giggling again. "Your magical!"

He would have commented, he should have commented but instead he kept his mouth shut. Janus wondered if he had pushed her past the breaking point with alcohol or if she truly did have scars and he took them away. If so then it was very accidental, a big mistake actually if he was honest with himself. That meant the potion had been far too strong, especially for a young woman. It was no wonder she seemed so sleepy the night before, her little body couldn't handle it.

But he did remember the stewardess mentioning something about her body before when the girl first arrived. The Count hadn't even memorized her face though, it was only the first few weeks after all, so he naturally could have cared less. Now though, it was a big problem.

"Scars?" He finally spoke, albeit nervously. "I don't remember ever seeing a mark on your body." He then cleared his throat and fiddled quickly with his collar, staring up to a brick on the ceiling that had suddenly become the most fascinating thing in the world. "Not that I looked." (5)

"I had them all over!" She exclaimed, while making quick work of pulling back her dark lace sleeve. "See that right there? That little white line was a bad one but it poofed away from that drink…I mean, because of that drink."

Now, that little white line didn't exactly have his rapt attention; her skin did. She was so pale! Sickly so, if her cheeks weren't always sporting a small blush he would have sworn they were kin. So soft, and white, and smooth, it even smelled like her soap. For a redhead she was severely lacking freckles -- he had only counted two by her wrist. Her blue veins even shown themselves proudly, once again contrasting to her skin in such a way that he had to look. Anyone would…

It did make him wonder how she got it. If that potion was as strong as he thought it was then any little mark should be gone all together, but she still had remnants of it. "You said you had more?" He casually pried. Once again he should have done what he always did and let the strange conversation die…but this was more interesting.

"Hmm? Oh, yes, yes." She uncrossed her legs and bent over in the chair and grabbed at the hem of her skirt. "Here look." And in quite literally a flash, she had lifted up her skirt in front of the poor Count.

His first reaction was to shout for her to mind her manners and pull her dress back down. The second was to shield his eyes from the near neon white legs to protect his retinas (6). But the instinct that pulled on him the hardest was for him to simply sit, stare, go bug-eyed, and gape.

After all, she was the palest woman he had ever seen and this was the first time he saw a ladies legs in years.

She had her skirts hiked up, revealing one leg all the way up to her thigh. She began running her fingers delicately over her calf and saying…something about a wolf. The Count, who was still thoroughly shocked, just kept nodding, trying desperately to swallow down the sudden lump that formed in his throat. When she had finally dropped her skirt, now concluding her wolf tale, the Count was still nodding.

When Janus eventually realized that she had finished speaking he felt an obligation to say something. Anything, so long as it would keep the silence from forming and stop certain thoughts from bloom. "No stockings?" Certainly not the most articulate question, but to a drunk it was good enough.

"Stewardess rushed me up to see you so I had no time for…for," A dazed expression formed on her face. A telltale sign that drinking time was over. "…socks."

"Ah."

Silence ensued and stretched. Although it was not uncomfortable the Count was ready to dismiss her for it. His servant looked as though she was ready to flop down and sleep, which would end smoothly on the Counts' part. After all, how would he wake her? He wasn't a man that went about touching random girls he didn't know in order to wake them. He had a feeling that most ladies weren't big fans of getting roused out of sleep by a vampire.

So he made up his mind. They both had an awkward yet tolerable evening, but one mustn't overindulge. He would see her everyday for the rest of her life, sending her back to bed was no crime. But just as he was about to send her off, she spoke. "Sir?"

"Yes?"

"Thank you for everything you…you do. And I'm very sorry for being a bother and wantin to smash yer bottles. I mean," She hiccupped. "your potions." His servant gave another long sigh. "I wish I was a better slave."

Ouch. Did she really have to be so black and white about it. Slave. Out of nowhere that word made him feel uneasy and a little dirty too, even though he himself referred to her as one only hours before. It was what she wanted to be; by choice it was that or death, most would have chosen the latter if they knew he was a vampire. But why did it make him feel so vile? It was her choice so technically she was not a slave because no one would ever pick such a fate.

He tossed the idea around in his mind trying to put to words what makes one a slave, all the while trying to prove that the girl in front of him was just a hired hand. He was having much difficulty doing both.

"You have sooo many books here my Lord." She smiled and glanced over to some unnamable book he had on the nightstand. "Do you like to read? I love to read but I've never had so many books like you."

XXXX

Once again it was not the smartest thing to do, nor was it the most beneficial on his part, but he had to do something to send her away as a servant, not a slave.

After the girl had expressed her liking for books he offered her access to his library. Janus allowed her to take a book out and keep it, read it, and return it in exchange for a new one. Oh did she glow when he made such an offer! She acted as if it was the greatest thing anyone had ever done for her. Perhaps that was the alcohol though. Either way it certainly made the Count feel so much better about having her leave him. It was, for now, his own way of payment -- that he did not tell the girl. Instead of gold she obtained knowledge. What better substitute for currency she could never spend?

Now he needed to relax…and drink. He would never admit it directly but Hal-Liurz was right about his sudden shift in feeding. Janus wasn't naive, he knew the girl was his main source of problems in that department. He just wanted her…What was inside her anyway. It had been a long time since he had been around someone as often as he was her, so naturally he was seeing the girl in many, many lights. Not that it was a problem, he could control any little petty instinct that worked its way into his mind.

But he truly did want her to like him and that was something he had just concluded but didn't fully understand. She was just so different: pure and young. How could she have possibly been a thief?

None of that mattered now. She was here and she was his. He would encourage her to do good, to be a light, his little light in the dark. That was the deal: he sparred her life and she became his. It was this to save her neck. This to save that beautiful neck.

Janus sighed heavily, his gaze growing somber at the thought. Too bad she's just a child.

But he didn't bother to register the that. It went away with a brush of his hand and sweep of his dark cloak. It was time for another walk.

XXXX

Tualga looked down at the cards in her hand, giving the Redguard across from her a mischievous smirk. Rheena drummed her fingers nervously as she too looked down at her hand. She didn't need a premonition to tell her the outcome in this game.

"You ready to lose?" The Nord asked, still grinning like a cat. "Put your cards down woman! Your only torturing yourself, ya know? And prolonging your demise."

"It is just a game!" Rheena snapped, tossing her cards unto the table in dismay. "I hate playing with you! You're such a sore winner!"

"Yer damn right!" Tualga laughed, scooping up the six gold pieces after a quick check of the cards. "Maybe if ya didn't have such shit luck you'd win for once."

Rheena stood, placing a protective hand over her small belly. She would have commented back at Tualga, most likely say something that insulted her culture -- as was their custom -- but a gentle tap on her shoulder pushed those thoughts away. And when she and Tualga turned they both simultaneously gaped.

Behind them stood Shum the butler, who had a rather ragged looking girl in his arms. The half Breton he was carrying kept muttering the same, 'You can put me down now, please' over and over.

"Does this belong to you?" Shum asked, eyeing the girl in his arms with little distaste. "I found her down in the private quarters, mumbling something about a book. She nearly died of a heart attack when I asked her what she was doing."

"Lynn?!" Tualga gawked, still unsure if it was okay to laugh or to be worried. "What the hell? Wha's the matter with her?"

The Butler snorted "Surille wine is what's the matter with her. She reeks of it!"

Abigale finally looked up, and met eyes with the confused pair of women. "Hi!" She exclaimed. Then reached out her arms and smiled, politely asking for help, "Help."

Rheena and Tualga shared irked glances, but regardless Tualga held out her arms and allowed Shum to plop the girl in them.

XXXX

"And I used to have to dress up like a boy y'know."

The trio of women sat at a little round table in the maids quarters. Tualga, who kept giggling at whatever the still drunk Abigale Lynn said, was still trying her best to help snap the girl out of it. While Rheena kept casting the Nord annoyed glances, still hanging onto the idea that Abigale was drugged and not drunk.

"Did you now?" Tualga asked Abigale. "Why'd you have to dress up like a boy?"

Although both older women were slightly annoyed -- Obviously Rheena more than Tualga -- neither complained. Abigale Lynn was most certainly the most quiet girl they had ever met, but when drunk, she let her every secret spill. And for the two who had quickly taken to bonding with the little half-mute, it was quite intriguing.

"Men aren't nice to me." The little Breton lamented. "I dunno why, but they were always mean. I dressed up like a boy to keep em away. I tied down my chest, hid my hair, covered my face in dirt and always talked like this!" She concluded in a rather odd and sickly voice. "It didn't always work though. Like when it rained…I hate the rain." She sighed and then quickly perked up again. "But the Count is nice to me! He-he said he would be nice to me forever!"

At this Rheena gave Tualga yet another critical glance, but the Nord only smirked and nudged Rheena's arm playfully. "That's not the alcohol that's making her blush." Tualga snickered. "Never a dull moment with this one eh?"

"Erm…T-Tualga?" Abigale whimpered, suddenly clutching at her stomach. "Can I have the pale back again please?"

"Sure can."

Thankfully, Abigale had yet to toss any cookies, but every so often she would hug the large bucket and mumble incoherently into it. The night was going to be a long one. Both higher ups were left to wonder just how much wine the Count had given her and why. Abigale refused to say anything more other than him being so kind. But they did both end up learning that the girl before them had been in prison once, besides her rather memorable incarceration in castle Skingrad. They even learned that the girl once had ties to the Thieves Guild, which had only been rumored up until now.

They learned much that night, and even as the all tried to sleep Abigale still muttered past events of her life as she dreamed. Unintentionally giving hints to the more depression aspects of her life.

I am sorry. Help.

Authors Notes: This chapter suuuuuckss! XD But I finally threw it all together tonight. You see, I've been writing small snippets of this chapter over the past month. I was too busy to do anything more than a sentence or two at the time D: so do forgive me :/ I hope you guys are still following along and enjoying the story. Next chapter will be up soon, now that I am lonely and bored! :D (sadly I can only isolate myself for small amounts of time before my peers come to collect me)…XD

Buuut! Romance is gonna be a brewin in castle Skingrad soon. XD Well, at least it will for one of our key characters. :3

Those who think Janus is getting all weird too quickly, here's some food for thought ^-^ : According to actual vampire lore (not glittering Twilight stuffs) Vampires get obsessive quickly over the thing they find intriguing.

Now, I'm going to bed. Night!

But before I go:

1. She's a light weight XD

2. Anyone else think he should slow it down a bit? I mean she's the first lady he has been around for years but Yesh! XD

3. *Cough* she was a theif remember?

4. Flirt...pft, vampires :3

5. Smooooooth XDDDDDD

6. I told you she was sickly pale.